“Then come with me, I’m going there myself. It isn’t far. We can walk.”
“I should like that. It will give me a chance to see something of the city.”
So the two walked together till they reached French’s Hotel, at the corner of Frankfort Street, facing City Hall Park.
“I suppose we could get a better room if we took one together,” said the stranger.
Tom hesitated. He didn’t altogether like the arrangement, but it seemed ungracious to refuse.
“Very well,” he said.
“Then put down your name in the books.”
Tom with some pride, for he had never before stayed at a hotel, wrote in the hotel register, “Thomas Temple, Centerville,” in a bold, round hand.
Underneath his companion scrawled the name, “Samuel Livingston, Buffalo.”
“Give us a good double-room,” he said to the clerk.